


Good Luck, Sam Winchester.

by atlasthend



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Background Het, Bottom Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Confessions, Episode: s03e03 Bad Day at Black Rock, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Incest, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Marking, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pre-Hell, Pre-Hell Dean Winchester, Season/Series 03, Sibling Incest, Superstition, Top Sam Winchester, Wincest Writing Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:00:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13525764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlasthend/pseuds/atlasthend
Summary: S3E3: Bad Day at Black Rock, but the boys decide to lay low instead of going out to eat. Sam gets lucky instead.





	Good Luck, Sam Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, I forgot to post this back in July when I wrote it for the wincest writing challenge on tumblr. Happy reading!

There’s tension in the impala so thick Sam could cut it with a knife. Initially, telling Dean about Ruby had seemed like a good idea given the fact that Dean had sworn to stop Sam from trying to break his deal. Maybe if Dean knew that there really was hope, he’d let Sam pursue whatever bone Ruby might throw him. But to have it thrown back in his face like this, with Dean looking at him incredulously, sets Sam’s teeth on edge.  
“She told me she could help _you_ , okay?!” He spits, and when Dean finally stops yelling at him, Sam hastens to elaborate, “Help you out of the crossroads deal.”  
Dean’s mouth quirks at an odd angle, and Sam can’t believe it either, but his brother looks somehow even more incredulous. “What is wrong with you, huh? She’s lyin’! You gotta know that, don’t you?”  
Sam stares out through the windshield, refusing to look over at Dean. Because the second he does, he’ll  be second guessing himself, the way he always does when Dean tells him something is a bad idea. He knows he can take care of himself, but Dean refuses to look at it like that.  
“She knows what your weakness is. ’S me.” Sam can feel his brother’s eyes on him again and swallows thickly. Dean doesn’t realize how precisely he just hit that nail on the head.  
In the silence following, Sam can feel Dean willing him to speak, but he’s clammed his mouth shut, afraid he’ll say something that will be more than enough to substantiate Dean’s claim.  
“What else did she say?” Dean presses, but Sam only watches the flashes of the bright, yellow centerlines on the wet asphalt lit by the impala’s headlights. “Dude?”  
“Nothing,” Sam finally admits, and he feels Dean looking at him like he’s just grown a second head again. Sam knows what’s about to come out of Dean’s mouth, he knows the spiel Dean’s ready to give him about how he should know better than to just trust some demon bitch with nothing to back up her claim to help them, so he heads his brother off at the pass. “Nothing, okay?!”  
He’s so sick of Dean looking at him like he’s stupid, “Look, I’m not an idiot, Dean! I’m not talking about trusting her! I’m talking about _using_ her! I mean, we’re at war, right? And we don’t know jack about the enemy. We don’t know where they are, we don’t know what they’re doing. I mean, hell, we don’t even know what they want. Now this Ruby girl knows more than we will _ever_ find out on our own. Now, yes, it’s a risk; I know that. But we _need_ to take it.”  
Sam waits patiently for his brother’s response, watching the tick in Dean’s jaw as he stares ahead. Finally, Dean looks over at him, “You’re okay right? I mean, you’re feeling okay?”  
“Yes, I’m fine! Why are you always asking me that?!” Sam shouts, infuriated with how calm Dean sounds, how quick and easy his brother is able to dismiss the possibility that Sam might have found a way to get Dean out of his deal and instead imply he’s out of his right mind, trusting a demon, of all things. Doesn’t Dean realize what this could mean for him? What it could mean for them both?  
Dean stares at him, and for an instant, Sam is afraid his brother might be able to see the raw desperation boiling behind his mask of fury, but, thankfully, the ring of a cellphone spares him.  
It turns out to be Dad’s, in the glovebox, like Dean tells him, and Dean sends them hurtling toward Buffalo after they learn of the storage container their father apparently kept being broken into.

Upon their arrival, Dean is all smiles, despite the fact that he didn’t get a wink of sleep the whole night because he refused to let Sam have the wheel. Thinking about what their dad might have locked up in some storage container he didn’t bother to tell either of his sons about left Sam too keyed up to sleep himself, though he might have pretended just to avoid somehow rekindling their earlier conversation about Ruby.  
It’s just a short elevator ride down and then they’re breaking into the storage container themselves.  
The huge, orange devil’s trap on the concrete raises Sam’s eyebrows and gives some insight into whatever it was John had locked away from the rest of the world, “No demons allowed.”  
Splatters on the floor mar the design and shine dark red in the beam of Dean’s flashlight. “Blood,” he grunts, and crouches down to inspect it. Closer to the ground, Dean finds something even more interesting, though, and reaches out to touch the trip wire. Sam follows it with the beam from his own flashlight, and his eyes set upon the barrel of a shotgun peeking inconspicuously out of the mouth of a boar skull.  
Sam huffs a soft laugh, “Whoever broke in here got tagged.”  
“Dear, old Dad,” Dean gruffs, shining his light on the ground once more. There’s a thick layer of dust over everything in the container, as well as the floor, “I got two sets of boot treads here, looks like it was a two-man job. And our friend with the buckshot in him, looks like he kept walkin’.”  
Dean rises from his crouch and they venture farther into the container, shining their flashlights around cautiously. It would be just like their paranoid old man to outfit the place with enough boobytraps to kill someone. Sam’s surprised they haven’t found a body yet.  
Sam is even more surprised that they find his division championship soccer trophy from 1995 and Dean’s first home-made sawed-off from the sixth grade.  
And then they find the boxes, black, and sealed carefully with white runes.  
“That’s binding magic. These are curse boxes,” Sam tells his brother, and a cold chill runs down his spine. Of all places, Dad picked a storage unit on the outskirts of Buffalo to accumulate not only guns and landmines, but supernatural objects with enough power to potentially kill a man. The place was practically a bomb just waiting to go off.  
“Curse boxes? They’re supposed to keep the evil mojo in, right? Kind of like the pandora deal?”  
“Yeah,” Sam gives a slight nod. At least Dean has a slight inkling of how dangerous the stuff in these boxes could be. “They’re built to contain the power of the cursed object.”  
“Dad’s journal did mention a whole bunch of stuff, ya know, dangerous, hexed items, fetishes. He never did say where they ended up.” Sam thinks he knows.  
“This must be his toxic-waste dump.” It comes out a little bitter. But then, Sam is bitter. Dad decided to store memories from their childhood among the horrors of his hunting life. There was nothing sacred to him about any of their accomplishments growing up. Instead of hoisting them high on a shelf and smiling down at his sons with pride like any normal father would, he chose to let these happy memories collect dust in a container he didn’t even bother telling his sons about, buried, for all time.  
Just then, the beam of Sam’s flashlight catches on the shelf next to the last box and stops him cold. He wipes a finger across the line of thick, charcoal dust collecting on the shelf in front of a space free of any dust at all. A box sat there once. “One box is missing.”  
“Great,” Dean mutters. Always the optimist, “Well, maybe they didn’t open it.”  
But Sam knows the way their luck usually runs, and he’s not nearly as hopeful as Dean.  
They are a a little lucky that the guys who broke into the container were stupid enough to park right in front of the security camera and they were able to get the plates.

It takes them just shy of three hours to find the shitstain of a car with Connecticut plates parked out in front of a dingy, yellow, brick apartment building.  
They have no idea what they’re walking into, so Dean’s got his pistol drawn and walks stealthily ahead of Sam, clearing the open doorways and hallway until they can hear voices coming from a room down the way. “Grossman, that’s the second royal flush in eight hands. I can’t lose. I mean, really, I can’t lose. I think this thing really works.” Sam raises an eyebrow at his brother and Dean nods. That can’t be a coincidence.  
“I tell you one thing, there’s no way in hell we are handing it over to that stuck-up bitch, not after all we’ve been through.” Definitely what someone who took a load of buckshot would say. “Let’s go, huh? Let’s get out of here. Let’s go have some fun.”  
Dean dives into the room, gun first, “Freeze, freeze! Nobody move!”  
Sam draws his own gun and follows in after his brother, “Don’t move!”  
“Don’t move!” Dean repeats.  
The guy in the corner eyes the door behind Sam, and Sam glares, “Stop!”  
“Alright, give us the box. Please tell me that you didn’t-” Dean starts, but Sam can see the black box yawning wide on the little table beside the plaid green couch.  
“Oh, they did.”  
“You opened it?!” Dean seizes the man closest to him, fists the guy’s denim vest, slams him into the wall.  
The skeezy guy in his denim vest has the gall to ask them if they’re cops, but Dean ignores him, pressing, “What was in the box?!”  
The guy glances at the table behind Dean, and Dean follows his eyes to a furry little thing that looks like it belongs on a set of car keys. “Oh, is that it, huh? It was, wasn’t it?” Dean does a double-take, “What is that thing?”  
When Dean takes his eyes off Vest, he throws off Dean’s arms and Dean’s gun goes flying. It hits the floor hard and when it goes off, the bullet ricochets off of the metal heater and nicks Sam’s hand. He drops his own gun and it fires off a shot that just barely misses Dean and shatters the lamp beside him.  
There’s a silence, and Sam and the other man lock eyes. At the same time, they both dive for the pistol Sam just dropped, but the man grapples Sam and shoves him backwards, into Dean, who goes ass-first into the little coffee table behind him, splintering it and sending the rabbit foot flying off onto the floor.  
“Sorry!” Sam exclaims, and before he can do anything other than apologize to his brother, he’s tackled to the ground and socked in the face.  
Dean rolls over and reaches for the pistol on the floor beside him, but Vest gets to it first, and when Dean stands, he gets knocked silly right across the face with it. Unintentionally, to boot.  
With Dean incapacitated, Sam has no one to come to his aid when the man on top of him starts choking him. Gasping, he fumbles blindly for the rabbit’s foot on the floor just barely within his reach.  
When he touches it, a sudden burst of energy allows him to throw the man’s hands from around his neck and send him flying off of Sam with a kick in the sternum.  
He sees Dean sit up blearily and stands himself, “Dean! I got it!”  
The muzzle of a pistol prods his chest, and Vest stares at him, cold as ice, “No, you don’t.”  
He pulls the trigger.  
Sam winces, but nothing happens. Did it- did it jam? _Dean’s_ gun? Dean practically takes the damn thing apart and cleans it every single day. It had never jammed before.  
Nonetheless, Vest can’t get it to fire no matter how many times he tries and backs up only to trip over the broken coffee table behind him, knocking himself unconscious when he hits his head on the floor.  
The other guy looks like he knows he can’t win, but he still pulls his gun when backed into a literal and figurative corner.  
“Sam!” Dean warns, but an avalanche of books from the shelf beside the man comes crashing down on him and the gun flies out of his hand when he falls under its weight.  
Sam miraculously catches it in one hand, barrel pointed out.  
Dean is astounded, his eyes going from Sam to the man in the corner to Vest and back to Sam again. “That’s a lucky break.”  
Sam stares at the gun in his hand, but all Dean can look at is the supposed cursed object in Sam’s other hand. “Is that a rabbit’s foot?”  
Sam raises it up so he can examine it more closely, “I think it is.”  
“Huh.” Dean sounds like he can’t believe what just happened to them, even if he did see it with his own eyes. Sam can relate.

Upon finding nothing about the foot in Dad’s journal, they check in with Bobby- after Dean makes Sam scrape at the dozen or so scratch off tickets he bought at a little convenience store, of course, before Bobby can tell them not to do anything of the sort- and the man confirms that he knew about John’s lockup and even built the curse boxes inside.  
Even though the rabbit’s foot seems like one hell of a good luck charm to the boys, Bobby tells them that everyone who owns the foot at one time and then loses it ends up pushing up daisies within a week. And _everyone_ loses it.  
It sobers them, and Dean holds the scratch offs a little closer to his chest, looking imploringly at Sam. He didn’t think there might be a price.  
“How do we break the curse?” Sam asks.  
“Just sit tight,” Bobby tells them, he doesn’t know, but he’ll look through his library and make some calls.  
Sam figures sitting tight implies heading to the nearest motel and staying put until Bobby figures out how to break the curse before Sam somehow loses the foot. For once, Dean doesn’t fight him. He already sold his soul to bring Sam back, he’s got nothing to bargain with if he loses him a second time.  
They pull into the parking lot of a dingy little motel complex and Dean lets Sam wait in the car while he gets the keys to a room and checks them in. He’s practically whistling when he gets back, grinning from ear to ear. Sam just quirks an eyebrow at him. “Guy at the desk said it was our lucky day. Apparently none of these rooms have air conditioning. Well, none but one, and the couple in that room just left.” He tosses the keys through the window at Sam and Sam catches them effortlessly.  
Dean goes around to get the bags out of the trunk while Sam opens the door to their room and steps into the quaint little space. It’s definitely not the nicest motel room they’ve been in, but it’s nowhere near the worst, either. There’s just one thing. “Uh, Dean. Where’s the other bed?”  
Dean huffs out a laugh as he sets the bags down in one corner of the room, “That was the catch. But I figured, hey, it’s nothing we haven’t done before, right?”  
“Dean, the last time we shared a bed, I was six.” Sam crosses his arms over his chest.  
Dean looks him up and down and grins, “What do you mean? You’re still six. Six foot, at least.”  
Sam rolls his eyes, “My point exactly.”  
Dean shrugs, “We’ll make it work. Just don’t hog all the blankets, Sasquatch. And hell, we might not even be here a night if Bobby gets back to us soon.”  
Sam sighs and takes a seat on the edge of the mattress, “I guess you’re right.”  
Dean plops down next to him, grinning, “Dude, if you were ever gonna get lucky…”  
Sam huffs a laugh, “It’d be right now?” _Oh, crap._  "I-I mean, now, uh, while I have the foot.“  
“Foot in your mouth, you mean?” Dean chuckles, and his thick, dark eyelashes are low, and _oh_.  
And then Dean is leaning toward him, Dean is _kissing_ him.  
Sam’s mouth gapes, and Dean surges forward, pressing his tongue in alongside his brother’s and gripping the tops of Sam’s arms to maneuver him down onto the duvet under Dean, where Sam remains, his mind completely blank while Dean kisses the hell out of him. It’s like his brain has suddenly short circuited.  
When he finally regains his composure, Dean is mouthing at his jaw and fumbling with the button of his jeans.  "Dean, Dean, what-“  
Dean digs his palm into the crotch of Sam’s jeans, rubs him hard, and Sam groans, his eyes rolling back in his head. “Little brother, I intend to make sure you get lucky today.”  
“Dean! Dean, stop!” Sam manages. This has got to be the rabbit foot’s doing. Dean’s not in his right mind right now. This is Sam’s fault for wanting his brother the wrong way in the first place. “You’re under its influence!”  
“Maybe,” Dean smirks and ducks his head to nip at the corner of Sam’s jaw. Dean’s hand deftly unzips Sam’s jeans and pulls Sam out, hard and pulsing. His thumb swipes over the head, where pre-cum is already beading, and Sam throws his head back against the plush sheets under them. “Maybe I’m just an awesome brother.”  
“ _Dean, please-_ ” Rather than imploring Dean to come to his senses, Sam’s voice comes out as a throaty whine, practically begging.  
“Please, what, Sammy boy?” Dean purrs, jacking him now.  
Sam closes his eyes tight against the sensations, “Please, don’t do this.”  
Abruptly, Dean lets him go, and Sam almost sobs, throwing his arm over his eyes so Dean doesn’t see him wince. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”  
Sam raises his arm then, blinking up at his brother. His brother who almost looks… dejected, concerned even. _Guilty_ , Sam thinks.  
“Dean, do you- do you know what you’re doing?”  
Dean doesn’t meet Sam’s eyes, staring at a peeling patch of paint on the wall of their crappy, little motel room, “I gotta be honest. I-I thought maybe I could have this with you. Just this once. Because I had an excuse. Because once it was all over, I could pretend like it never happened, like it was all the foot’s fucking fault. When you didn’t want me the way I wanted you, it would be okay. And then I’d go to Hell, where I belong anyway, for wanting you the way a big brother’s not supposed to want his little brother, for looking at you, touching you the way I wasn’t supposed to.”  
Sam levers himself up on his elbows, trying to see into Dean’s eyes. “Look at me, Dean,” he commands, and the shiver that elicits is visible. Just like all the raw emotion in the green of Dean’s eyes when he complies.  
The vulnerability and shame and guilt and fear read clear as a bell, and it hurts, holy hell, does it hurt, and before Sam realizes what he’s doing, he’s sitting up and dragging Dean against his chest. A familiar ache has bloomed there, behind his ribs, where a hole was made when he was small, when he realized he wasn’t supposed to want his brother the way he did, the same way that Dean described the way he always wanted Sam just now. Sam thinks if he holds his brother tight enough, maybe he’ll be able to absorb Dean into himself and he’ll finally be whole. Maybe they’ll save Dean from the hungry hell-hound maw that way and Sam will never have to let him go.  
“ _I don’t ever want to lose you_ ,” Sam confesses, and his voice is thick with emotion.  
Dean buries his face against Sam’s neck, and his lips move against the pulse of Sam’s jugular vein, stirring Sam’s dick, even as the words that come out of his mouth wrench at Sam’s heart, “I’m scared, Sam. I’m scared shitless. But I’d make that deal a thousand times if it always meant you lived. You make this world better just by breathing. And I don’t wanna live in a world where you don’t exist.” Sam swears he thinks Dean is crying. “Holding you… when you weren’t… there anymore. That was… the worst feeling. That was worse than dying, Sammy.”  
Sam clenches the back of Dean’s shirt in one big hand and dips his chin to press a kiss to Dean’s temple. “So now I have to feel that, too?”  
“I’m not sorry, Sam. You can’t ever make me say that I regret making that deal.” Dean’s voice is sure, strong, but then, “And- And besides, that demon bitch you’re all buddy-buddy with now, she’s gonna fix it, right?”  
Sam blinks, surprised. But then he smiles and gets his fingers around Dean’s chin to tip his face up. Dean’s eyes are unsure, but Sam’s smile smoothes out his worried forehead wrinkles, soothes his nerves enough that he closes his eyes when Sam kisses him.  
It’s soft, chaste almost, and they’re both smiling when Sam pulls back. Dean, of course, waggles his eyebrows and Sam laughs, warm and genuine before he leans back in for another kiss.  
This one is soft too, but it bleeds into something rougher when Dean catches Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth and slides one hand up Sam’s inner thigh, teasingly close to his straining erection.  
Sam yanks his head back and glares at his brother, “Not fair.”  
The shit-eating grin on Dean’s face says it all- _All’s fair in love and war, little brother._  
“You asked for it,” Sam warns, and before Dean can blink, Sam’s got him pinned against the mattress, kissing hard at his neck.  
“Weak,” Dean rasps, but his dick would beg to differ, especially when Sam worries a bit of flesh between his teeth before sucking at it, deep, long pulls that leave Dean’s cock fat and twitching against the inseam of his jeans. That’s definitely gonna be a bruise, and it really shouldn’t turn Dean on so much, but he wants Sam to mark him up like hickies are going out of style.  
Sam presses his thigh between Dean’s legs and Dean ruts up against it, nearly moans at the friction even through their clothes. He’s half delirious with the need to touch, to be touched. “Sam, Sammy, you gotta- I gotta-”  
“I got you, big brother,” Sam tells him, soft and low, and then Sam is popping the button on Dean’s jeans and drawing the zipper down. He gets an arm under Dean to pop his hips up and then drags his brother’s jeans down his legs with the boxers underneath. Dean stares up at him, mouth agape and eyes wide as Sam pulls the bunched up things from Dean’s feet before he slides back between Dean’s legs and tears off both of Dean’s shirts so he can kiss up his chest. There, he worries one nipple between his teeth, makes Dean hiss and throw his head back, curling one hand in Sam’s shaggy hair so he doesn’t come undone right then and there even though Sam hasn’t even touched his cock.  
And then Sam touches his cock. _And. It. Is. Awesome._  
The palm that curls around him is huge, rough, calloused, and it drives Dean absolutely wild. His hips jerk and he punches his cock through the tight fist around his shaft, once, twice, a third time before he feels his cock start to pulse. “ _Sam, oh god-_ ”  
Sam tightens his fist to the point that it no longer feels good and Dean is thwarted of his release. He almost sobs, but Sam laughs, and it makes Dean’s blood boil. “Coming already, Dean? Man, that good, huh?”  
“In your dreams,” Dean grumbles, and Sam goes eerily silent.  
“I’ve dreamed about this too many times to count, really,” Sam confesses, but it’s laced with something hot and hungry that makes Dean’s cock pulse with arousal again. “Do you want me to tell you what I did to you in those dreams, Dean?”  
Dean swallows, “Want you- Want you to show me, Sammy.”  
Sam’s eyes gleam almost predatorily and Dean knows it was the right thing to say.  
Still, Sam takes his time moving down Dean’s body, languid and lazy until he stares up at Dean from between his legs. “Whenever I would suck you off, you’d beg me to cum.”  
_Oh god, Dean is so fucked. He’ll cum if his cock even touches Sam’s tongue, he knows it._  
“Please, Sam, _please-_ ”  
“Don’t cum, Dean,” Sam orders, damn him, before he swallows his brother’s cock.  
Dean throws his arm over his eyes and clenches his teeth. The tight, warm, wet heat around his cock is heaven and hell at the same time. Sam’s tongue undulates beneath the heavy weight of Dean’s member, tracing the vein on the underside until Dean is clenching the comforter in the fist at his side and his hips are thrusting up in little circles. He doesn’t notice the digit that’s crept into his asshole until it’s up to the second knuckle and even then, it only makes him moan. Some of the girls he slept with in high school liked to do butt stuff while giving oral. He’d had some of the best orgasms of his life with two fingers stuffed in his ass and his cock halfway down some girl’s throat.  
Sam wastes no time in adding a second finger, and Dean doesn’t so much as bat an eye, panting and moaning and fisting the sheets while Sam sucks him. At one point, Sam pulls back and his fingers leave Dean’s ass so that Sam can coat them generously in the saliva that’s pooled in his mouth. They return to Dean’s ass, but Dean swears there are three of them now. Before he can dwell on it too much, Sam’s mouth is back around his cock, and Dean has to utilize all of his will power to avoid coming down his little brother’s throat.  
After what can’t be more than ten minutes, Sam pops off his cock yet again, face flushed and breathing hard. “Dean, I can’t, man- I gotta-”  
Dean is so out of it, he’s nodding before he realizes just what exactly Sam is implying he needs. Sam drools into his hand, thick gobs of saliva that he uses to slick up his cock and then something bulbous is pressing at Dean’s entrance, and god help him, Dean’s legs fall open and he shudders as Sam slides home. “ _Sammy, Sammy_ ,” he chants, wrapping his arms around the back of Sam’s neck so he can hug him close.  
Sam ruts into him with reckless abandon, all the while moaning filthy praises into Dean’s ear, telling him how good he feels wrapped around Sam’s cock, how hot and tight and perfect he is. Sam’s hands tremble with reverence as he strokes Dean’s sides, fingers bumping over his ribs before Sam grips Dean’s hips hard enough to bruise and thrusts into him, harder, faster.  
The headboard of the bed is nailing the wall with every thrust now- _thump, thump, thump_ \- over and over in quick succession until Sam swears he can hear someone curse on the other side of the wall and a door slams.  
Sam can’t stop. He couldn’t stop if their father’s ghost materialized into their motel room right this fucking moment. Dean is too perfect under him, around him, for him, moaning so nice and taking everything Sam’s got to give and giving so much more.  
Sam kisses his brother just before his orgasm crests, reaches down to fist Dean in his hand and Dean comes apart, shaking, with only two tugs at his cock. He moans that stupid nickname into Sam’s open mouth and that’s what pushes Sam over the edge as Dean’s ass squeezes him in its vice-like grip. He slams deep, emptying himself into his brother until he’s left twitching with the aftershocks of the strongest orgasm of his life.  
When Sam comes down, Dean is breathing hard underneath him, hands light on Sam’s shoulders. He stares up at Sam with something like awe. Sam huffs out a laugh, smiling down at his brother breathlessly, and Dean beams, pulling Sam down into a warm hug.  
“That was…” Sam murmurs into his ear, “Holy shit, Dean, that was-”  
“I’m the best lay you’ve ever had, yeah, I know, I get that a lot.” Sam can hear the cheeky grin and rolls his eyes, but hugs Dean even closer.  
Before too long, Sam starts to fall asleep, still on top of and inside his brother. But Dean’s not having that. He slaps Sam’s shoulder, “Okay, quit clinging to me like some overgrown spider-monkey.” Sam doesn’t budge. “Get up, Sam, I gotta take a shower, man.”  
Sam decidedly does not make any move to get off of Dean and does not indicate that he intends to do so anytime soon.  
“I’ll call Bobby and tell him you’re a cuddler,” Dean threatens.  
“You wouldn’t,” Sam grumbles sleepily into Dean’s collarbone.  
“And why wouldn’t I?” Dean returns, amusement in his voice as he strokes one hand through Sam’s hair.  
“Because it’s my lucky day.”  
A moment passes and then Dean laughs, long and hard and jarring, and Sam grins as he finally obliges his brother, rolling off of him and onto his side so he can grin at Dean.  
Dean stifles his laughter and leans in for a kiss before he gets up and heads to the bathroom. Sam totally doesn’t stare at his brother’s ass or anything.  
The shower starts up and Sam smiles up at the ceiling. This has been the craziest, most amazing day of his life. And it’s not even over yet.  
A knock on the door startles him and he’s forced to hastily tuck himself back into his jeans and go answer the door. When he opens it, a cute, petite woman with short black hair smiles up at him, wearing a collared maroon shirt and a pair of khakis. “Room service.”  
“We didn’t, ah, we didn’t call for room service-”  
“You’re, ah. You’re neighbor, next door,” her eyes crinkle a little sympathetically, “he called with a noise complaint actually.”  
Sam goes pale.  
“I can, um. I can change the sheets for you,” she tells him, and Sam flushes.  
“That would be great, thanks.”  
As soon as she leaves, he lets himself into the bathroom and strips. He nearly trips taking off his jeans in his haste to get under the spray with Dean and hears his brother snicker. Sam gets in behind his brother, mouthing at the nape of Dean’s neck and reaching around his front to cup his cock. “Our neighbor said we were too loud,” he smirks against Dean’s skin.  
“Mmmm.” Dean tilts his head back and to the side and slots their mouths together. Even at an odd angle, it’s good.  
Until Sam slips and falls on his ass and bangs his head against the wall, “Shit!”  
“How was that good?” Dean asks, flabbergasted as Sam rubs the back of his head. He can already tell there’s going to be a knot there the size of a softball.

When they finally reemerge from the bathroom, for the most part unscathed apart from Sam’s small head injury, the rabbit’s foot Sam left on the bedside table is long gone. 


End file.
